


Timelapse

by Benjamin_Cramberr



Series: Time is Imaginary [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Character Death, Don't read fanfiction if you're not caught up, Go Easy On Me, I Tried, I made that mistake, M/M, Not Beta Read, Spoilers, Spoilers for Episode 100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:29:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benjamin_Cramberr/pseuds/Benjamin_Cramberr
Summary: Cecil could be hallucinating, or everything is just a test to his sanity. All he knows is Carlos may or may not be there.





	Timelapse

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm completely new to writing fanfiction and this also happens to be my very first one ever. Suggestions are welcomed and I hope this was an okay read.  
> Do I need to put a disclaimer? I own nothing but the plot, which I really hope doesn't exist besides here. Sorry if it does? I wouldn't know, but it's a pretty big world. I suppose I don't have the best imagination. Especially with titles.

Cecil woke up in dark blue sheets, which were much colder than when he normally was in the bed. Something shuffled on the ceiling and something else growled from under the bed. The place Carlos normally took up was empty. Panic laced through his chest, and dread began to pool in his stomach, but he pushed it down to the pits of his existence and tried to remember not to let feelings take control. Instead, his imagination got the best of him.

  
He imagined that the Sheriff’s Secret Police sneaking in through one of the windows that they were required to keep unlocked and stealing him away to make him nonexistent to their community, and his heart sped up. He imagined having to deny the many times they walked together far too close to the Dog Park that could not be mentioned, if only for some privacy, or watching the lights hover above the Arby’s and seeing their reflections illuminating Carlos’ eyes. All the times they lay together on top of his car to stare at the void and few stars that shone through the darkness, almost like small lighthouses above a long-dried ocean. All of those precious moments with him would be gone for the rest of their lives.

  
Then he imagined sweet, perfectly imperfect Carlos getting up in the middle of the night to use the restroom, and uncovering the mirror like he was not supposed to do, his voice stolen by the creature that hid in the other dimension that no one could think of or gaze into. He thought of the way the many hands of the people lost to the mirrors would grasp him tightly and make him one of their own. The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home would have to keep quiet for her safety and the safety of the community, and Carlos would be known by no one.

  
He imagined Strexcorp coming back, with the nonexistent angles no longer in control of it. He had witnessed the time when their own radio host had been thrown through the oak doors to the Desert Otherworld, where he is doomed to remain. They would surely target him, as the Voice of Night Vale who had escaped their clutches, and the sure way to truly hurt him was through Carlos. This was his one weakness, the one person who he could no longer function without, and the pain would render him useless in another Rebellion.

  
Of course, imagining was scheduled for Wednesday and he would most likely be fined for all of the time he spent doing it outside of the mandatory times. Besides, as the City Council explained many times in unison, “WE WILL NOT ACCEPT IMAGINATION. THE ONLY PERSON WHO IS ALLOWED TO IMAGINE OUTSIDE OF THE MANDATORY TIMES IS JOHN, YOU KNOW, THE FARMER, BUT ONLY TO TEND TO HIS IMAGINARY CORN FIELDS.” No questions were taken.

  
Slightly relieved by this memory, Cecil kicked his feet over the edge of the bed and slipped them into the furry slippers his sister gave him for his birthday and went on to look for Carlos. He refrained from calling his name, knowing the Agents from a Vague yet Menacing Agency would not appreciate him interrupting their important work of not-stalking people. They have made the point that they absolutely do not stalk people of the Night Vale Community and simply observe them in the privacy of their homes without being noticed by said people.

  
He walked down the stairs that sometimes changed color in their fairly new home, and made sure his steps could be heard by the agents before walking to a visible spot in the kitchen, where he found his husband. He felt like he was finally able to breathe at the sight of him mashing coffee beans with a wooden hammer, the window above the sink open and letting in a breeze that ruffled the light blue curtains and made them squeak happily.

  
Carlos turned his head slightly to glance at him and smiled, before continuing the chanting and smashing of the coffee beans. Cecil walked up behind him to observe and really just to be close to him. He rested a hand on his shoulder and rumpled the fabric of his home lab coat, listening to his voice soothe over him with syllables from a language known only in Night Vale, and did not try to translate them.

  
“You need to chant your words a little faster honey,” Cecil said, “and be a little more angry. The beans can tell if you are truly angry.”

  
Carlos stopped his chanting for a moment and hummed. “I can’t think of anything to be angry about, Ceec. All I have really done since I’ve gotten here is science and meeting you.” They both grinned and Carlos continued, “Y’know, I don’t really remember much from before Night Vale, but scientifically I know there must have been something.”

  
Cecil patted the shoulder he had been holding before moving to get cups and prepare the coffee maker, and Carlos continued softly chanting. “I wouldn’t think too much about it Carlos, you could get a fine from the Agents That Fly Above Us and Read Our Thoughts. It’s just something no one thinks about, except You, but of course you know what happened then.” His voice had deepened into an almost menacing tone.

  
Carlos exhaled softly. “Right. Don’t think about it.” He placed the mashed beans into a cup and poured water in it. It took him a while to fully learn how to prepare coffee in Night Vale, although he couldn’t understand why it was different. He ran many tests on them in his lab but the results were always different, and he only succeeded in getting a headache. He sighed and glanced out the window at the dusty desert and different sized buildings of the small community.

  
Cecil was brushing the coffee maker when he heard a sound of surprise next to him. Carlos, who was staring at something through the open window, was gripping the counter in front of him, the coffee beans forgotten and flowing through the pipes of the sink with the flowing water. Frowning, Cecil turned the tap off and looked out the window next to Carlos. His breath was caught in his throat, and he vaguely made a mental note to release it later. For now, his entire being was focused on the red glowing eyes that stared back at him through the hazy air, metallic body writhing behind them and crushing buildings and walls easily.

  
It didn’t take long for the screams to start. Janice Rio, from down the street, watched with a panicked look and her mouth gaping, and Earl carried his son Roger into a bunker where many residents were rushing to. Cecil could not think, could not move, the gaze penetrating into his soul and keeping his Voice from helping him. But then the red-hot eyes turned and a roar split through the air and everyone listened and feared. Deadly metal spikes embedded themselves into surrounding buildings.

  
That was when his world changed. Panic began to set in and he tugged on Carlos’ coat to run for the door, because the creature had seen them and they were not safe, they were not going to be safe, not as long as they stayed in their home. Everything dipped around him and he was falling, but he was standing and he couldn’t understand anything but the thoughts repeating “Carlos, Carlos,” and hope that everyone in the town felt that they could make it out of whatever was happening alive, and together.  
It was not so. Nothing was that simple. Nothing was that merciful. Nothing _was_.

  
It was minutes later when Carlos slumped against him in their shared kitchen, in their shared house, in their shared lives. It was seconds after that when blood trickled slowly into his shirt, leaving a stain that would be remembered for the rest of his life, however long that was. He knew, without looking at his face, that he was dead. It hurt, it was the worst pain he felt in his muddled mind. His fingers clutched the hair he loved so much on the man he loved more and he wept.

  
He pressed his face to Carlos’ and cried and hoped and wished, even when the metal spikes jutting out from his eye and mouth and neck scraped against him unpleasantly, and soon he did not care that some of the blood between them was his own. He heard the screams of the people outside as the same fate was happening to various loved ones. He heard his own scream in there, but it was all background noise to the white sound that filled his head and his existence.

  
His entire body shook and he could not breathe for the life of him. Nothing else registered but Carlos. Not even when the fight began outside and people joined together in one of those desperate times all he saw was Carlos. He saw the beautiful eyes that would never open again, and would never shine with a light that showed true happiness in his presence. He saw the intensity of the way he slid petri dishes and collected samples with his gentle, scarred hands that were now cold to the touch.

  
Earl ran inside of the house, worry sketched over his features and followed the desperate unintelligible words coming from Cecil, his voice hoarse from screaming and crying. When he made it to the kitchen, he saw him gripping Carlos’ coat and supporting his head in his lap, as if it mattered, and watching for any possible movement that would bring his husband back to his embrace. Earl felt he was interrupting something, but knew he had to get the Voice of Night Vale somewhere safe, since the monster was still wreaking havoc in their town. So it was with a heavy heart that he began to try to move the mourning radio host away from the body that was once Carlos.

  
“Cecil.”, he said carefully. He knew what a delicate moment this was and didn’t want to make it worse, despite what was currently happening. “Cecil,” he repeated, “We need to get to the bunker. It’s not safe here.”

  
The Voice looked up at him with puffy eyes, and blood was smeared on his clothes and face. His mouth opened and closed, as if he was about to say something but lost the energy. Earl wouldn’t doubt it if that was the case. He walked over to him slowly, as if not to frighten him, and kneeled down next to him. Without a word he cupped Carlos’ head and carried him by the shoulders to a sitting position. His weight pushed into him and he let it, tears threatening to fall for his dear friend and fellow citizen.

  
But the feelings were pushed to the back of his head, as he had learned to do in the middle of dire situations, and he laid Carlos down on the cold floor. He reached across to Cecil and held out his hand, an indication that he could take it or he would find another way to get him out of the house. Cecil seemed to understand it, and with one more look at his dead husband, placed his hand in the new warmth of Earl’s. Supporting Cecil, he walked them out the front door in a haste, a plan on how to get to the bunker forming in his mind. His injuries slowed him down and he knew he couldn’t run without significant pain, so he looked for hidden routes.

  
As they slowly marched through rubble, roars echoing from all directions and metal flying, Earl kept his eyes down to the ground in the case of the unexpected. Suddenly, Cecil stopped, and Earl looked at him, fearing the worst. Ahead, there was nothing but dust and rubble from proud buildings that used to stand there.

  
“He’s behind us,” Cecil said, his eyes slipping closed. A shuddering breath left his lips, and that’s when Earl heard it. Metal screeched harshly as it crashed together, and it was directly behind them. His heart stopped and he thought he was surely going to die. He was not ready, but was anyone ever ready? Instead of running, he gripped Cecil’s hand and made slow movements, trying to remember the vigorous training he had to undergo during his time as a Boy Scout. Nothing came to mind when he needed it the most.

  
But as he was beginning their escape, Cecil released his hand and refused to move. Desperation filled him along with fear, fear for their lives and the lives of their community. When he looked at Cecil’s face, a question on his lips, there was nothing there, absolutely no expression at all. His eyes remained closed. Earl gasped when Cecil began walking backwards, towards the reason of the destruction of their desert town and the deaths of so many. Earl did not understand, like he didn’t understand many things about Night Vale, but this was something he felt he needed to know.

  
This was something he would never know. Cecil stopped a few feet from the metal creature and turned around, his eyes remaining shut, and smiled. It was a sad smile, a smile with many years of pain and sorrow behind it. And Earl knew. He knew too late, and he watched as shards pressed through the radio host’s delicate body and quickly split through him. The Voice of Night Vale was no more. And soon, time was no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue this? I would love to and I have ideas for what to write next, but I am also not very happy with how it is turning out. Not at all like I had hoped, but art is the same way, it never looks the same as how you imagine it. Unless you are really good. Which when it comes to writing I am most certainly not. Also is the rating okay for now? Dunno if it's going to change later if I continue with it.


End file.
